


Full Contact

by KanuKoris



Series: The Bishop DeSoto, Long May He Reign [6]
Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: (sorry), Bishop Max, Board Ending, Breathplay, Choking, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hair-pulling, Locker Room Sex, Not Overly Graphic, TOSSBALL, Tactical Time Dilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22168024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanuKoris/pseuds/KanuKoris
Summary: The Captain investigates the rumor that the Bishop secretly plays in underground tossball games.
Relationships: The Captain/Maximillian DeSoto
Series: The Bishop DeSoto, Long May He Reign [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567744
Comments: 19
Kudos: 62





	Full Contact

“Fifty bits.” 

Hawthorne lifted an eyebrow at the dock worker, who absently scratched at the engine grease in their hair, and looked scrawny enough that a hard breeze would snap them in half.

“Fifty bits for what?”

“Player’s fee.” The dock worker spat on the ground and held out their hand impatiently. “You wanna play, you gotta pay. Goes towards cleaning up the blood, and bribing the lot owner to leave us alone.”

Hawthorne rolled her eyes, but fished out the necessary bits and slapped them into the worker’s hand. They pocketed it amenably and began unlocking a heavy padlock on the warehouse’s barn door.

“You bring your own equipment,” they explained, feeding thick chains through the door handle, “No firing weapons. Game is full contact, you play at your own risk. Got it?”

“Uh huh.”

The barn door slid open to reveal a grungy, makeshift tossball field. The dock worker chirped, “Have fun” and Hawthorne made her way in.

She had heard there was an underground tossball game in Byzantium, but didn’t realize it was literally underground. The warehouse entrance led to a large back lot that had presumably been dug to create a basement for a factory, but had then never been completed. The ‘field’ was lit with cheap fluorescent floodlights, the weekday zones and goal scoring areas sketched out in paint.

Despite having to bribe and ingratiate her way through several levels of “I know a guy who knows a guy” in order to get access to the illegal game, there were dozens of people who had shown up to play. Tossball fanatics were a breed of their own and they would always find a way to scratch that itch. Even in a sanitized place like Byzantium.

Hawthorne made her way over to the benches of one team that still needed players and began to armor up, settling a half-visor over her face to obscure her eyes. Glancing around she saw that most of the players who had shown up were laborers and that armor ranged from ‘seen better days’, to junk scraps taped onto limbs.

The whistle was blown for the teams to get into position and ready up for the first serve. Hawthorne was playing eighteenth back and starting in the Wednesday zone. She had a good view of the opposing team’s fifth back, who was more decently armored than the rest of their teammates and even wore a full helmet.

The game started with a shrill whistle and the tossball being hit with an almighty ‘crack!’, sending it shooting a hundred miles per hour at the opposing team’s first back. Hawthorne had never played the game before and found herself swept up into what was a scrum of people running, tackling, and wrestling – possession of the tossball seemed like an afterthought.

The opposing team’s fifth back, standing a little taller than most, charged towards a Winger who had picked up the tossball. Grunting, he knocked any player aside that stood in his path, sending them flying into the air like ragdolls as he rammed them aside with his shoulders. The Winger looked pale, whipping their head around to see if there was any way out. It was intimidating to have a towering bulk of muscle and armor charge full speed at you, without any intention of slowing down.

_Crack!_

Hawthorne winced. Her team’s Winger was sure to have broken something as the menacing fifth back sent them bowling arse over teakettle, their backside dragging six feet through the dirt before finally stopping in a crumpled heap. The fifth back grabbed the tossball and began making a run for the goal-scoring zone.

_Not so fast_.

Hawthorne ran, unsure if she was even allowed to leave the Wednesday zone though it seemed that in tossball, rules were meant to be broken, and she charged after the fifth back. Launching herself into the air, she grabbed him around the mid-section and tackled him into the dirt. It felt like she had hit a solid wall, but he fell down with her. She grappled with his arms, but the fifth back bodily picked her up and slammed her back down, pinning her into a submission hold.

She looked up into the blank visor of the fifth back’s helmet, panting heavily, a grin on her face.

Taking advantage of the distraction, her team’s seventh back ran in to steal the tossball. They made it about another ten feet before a crowd of players jumped onto them in a mass heap. The fifth back growled, releasing her before jogging towards the scrum, cracking heads together and trying to fight his way back in.

Winded, she took her time picking herself back up and watched as the Bishop took a hit to the head, growled, and then pummeled his way through her team’s defensive line. Players shrank away from him, or flinched when he got too close, and she wondered just how many bruises and broken bones he had inflicted in the pursuit of some stress relief.

The game ran for a just under two hours, and despite not knowing very much about the game, the fact that Hawthorne was athletic, could run and wasn’t afraid of a fight, made her one of the better players on her team. By the Sunday zone, the two teams had lost a dozen players each to injury, and when the opposing team finally won, there was blood and a few loose teeth kicked up in the dirt.

Her main strategy had been to harass the fifth back and intercept his plays whenever possible. They had traded blows, she had headbutted him in spite of his helmet, and at one point he had even launched her over his back and thrown her across the field. Her teammates had picked up on the fact that their newcomer wasn’t afraid of the fifth back that had brutalized them in previous games, and often made way for her on the field to go _mano a mano_.

“We’re going to grab a few Zero Gee Brews if you want to join. First round would be on you… Captain.” Her teammate, the thirty-second back, gave her a sly wink. So they had cottoned on to her identity towards the end.

“I’ll have to join you next time, but first round’s on me anyway,” she said, flipping them a bit piece that could buy them several rounds. She saw their eyes light up and with an enthused ‘thanks!’ they sped away to catch up with their teammates and share the good news.

Hawthorne made her way towards the lockers instead of the exit, the beating her body had taken catching up to her in waves of achy, sore pain. It was generous to call the abandoned supply rooms at the far end of the lot ‘lockers’, but she had seen the fifth back troop towards one.

She jiggled the door handle to the supply room and frowned when she discovered it was locked. Without hesitating, she kicked the spot on the door where the bolt would be and it splintered, flying open. The armored fifth back player whirled around, ready to lunge at her until he realized who had disturbed his privacy.

She could hear him rasp from underneath the helmet, “It was fucking locked.”

She closed the door behind her, though it didn’t shut properly anymore, impervious to his rebuke. She undid the clasps to her visor and shook sweaty hair from her eyes. Hawthorne sucked in a deep breath, though the air inside the supply room was a bit dusty and stale, it felt good to feel air on her face.

He came over to her, hands already curled underneath his helmet, and he tugged it off so that she could see his eyes were smoldering. His skin was glistening and his usually perfect hair was matted down with sweat, and Hawthorne thought she had never seen Max look so raw. He let his helmet clatter to the floor as he took her face in both hands and pushed her up against the wall, kissing her senseless.

Hawthorne gasped, then chuckled in delight as his hands roamed over her, squeezing her hips – his hot, demanding mouth dragging down her neck. His voice rumbled into her skin, “You knew it was me the whole time?”

“You play fifth back. I remembered.”

Impatient hands tugged on the medium-weave armor he was wearing, and his fingers joined hers in undoing clasps, buckles and ties. She ran her fingers over his well-muscled arms as he pulled off the rest of the plating, and mischievously squeezed some yellow bruising that was already forming under his shoulder. He hissed in pain and groused, “ _hellion_ ” before grabbing the edges of her shirt and lifting it up and over her head.

Sweat cooled on her skin and she felt a shiver run through her. Max’s eyes were dark, looking almost black instead of green, as he took her in and ran fingertips down a reverent line from the base of her throat, between her breasts, and ending at her navel. There was a smugness and delight in his voice that made her toes curl. “You’re freckled _everywhere_.”

She curled a hand around the belt of his trousers and yanked him back towards her. Hands smacked against the wall on either side of her head and from the biting kisses he planted along her neck, she thought he approved.

“To think, this is the man so pious he doesn’t even fondle himself,” she purred, gasping when he brought his arms underneath her thighs and lifted her up against the wall, her legs dangling in the air.

He murmured darkly into her ear, “I have since, and thought of you, insufferable woman…”

With a satisfied hum, Hawthorne hooked her legs more snugly around his waist and carded her fingers through his hair. She saw his eyes darken with interest, and experimentally she gripped her fingers into his sweaty locks and tugged his head back. She wanted to tease him, thinking that mussing with his precious hair would rile him up.

Instead his eyes slipped shut and he let out a moan that was so sweet, Hawthorne didn’t think it was possible for the Bishop to have ever uttered such a sound. His eyes snapped open, just as shocked as she was, and she saw his cheeks flush.

“Maximillian…” she curled more of his hair around her fingers, a predatory excitement swooping through her. “I never would have guessed…”

He glared at her, embarrassed and daring her to mock him, but instead she gripped his hair and pulled even harder. He groaned, loud and urgent, and she slid down the wall a few inches when his knees shook. She purred, “Now put your hands on me, won’t you?”

Happy to oblige, he guided her down and once she was back on her feet, he flipped her around and pressed into her from behind. She hissed as her bare skin made contact with the chilly metal wall, and she felt him pull her trousers down with sharp yanks. His hand wrapped around her throat and lightly squeezed, and she let out a hungry sound of her own, until his fingers squeezed a little tighter and softened her groan to a gasp.

A hand at her throat, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave a mark, Max thrust into her from behind and they filled the supply room with soft grunts, hissed curses and a pleading whine that started to rise from her as she felt her body clench and unclench in a desperate way.

A woman’s name fell from her lips. Max did not slow his punishing pace, but gripped her chin and twisted her head back so she could look at him. “What was that?”

His thumb tugged her lower lip down, and she gasped, “My name… call me by my name…”

She saw his face constrict as he realized the secret she had just imparted upon him, buried into her to the hilt, and with a grateful mouth he thanked her for that precious gift by biting it into her skin, tracing it onto her neck and calling out her real name when he hit his climax and shuddered into her. Worshipful.

Panting, their skin drenched, they ended up on top of an uncomfortable pile of their armor, wound around each other’s limbs.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, and then let out a pained groan, attempting to shift his weight off his bruised arm. “Law… I’m so _sore_.”

She laughed, easing up so he could find a more comfortable position and took the opportunity to admire his form. He wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her against him. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest. His breath stirred her hair as he said, ”I can hear you thinking.”

She smirked, then ran her fingers along his chest. Contemplative. “It’s just… last time you played tossball was when you were in prison. And you’re playing again. Because you need to escape…?”

“Are you asking if Byzantium is a prison?”

She snorted. “No, I ain’t asking because I _know_ it is. But I’m feeling curious… if being Bishop, leading your religion, being a part of… all this… if you’re trapped by what you always wanted.”

His hand caught hers, and he gently twined their fingers together. She looked up and saw that his eyes were dark, though not with lust, as he took her in. Softly, he said, “Duty isn’t a cage… though sometimes the sacrifices feel great…”

She sighed and buried her face into his chest. Part of her wanted to smack him, while the other wanted to drink in his scent all day. “Some days I wish we met in a different time.”

He said nothing, bringing her hand up to brush his lips over her knuckles as his answer.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

Inside the cold, mildew-stained supply room that now stank of sex and sweat, hidden in the underbelly of Byzantium, entangled in each other’s arms, was a rare moment where they could just be Alex and Max… instead of the Captain and the Bishop.

He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, and she closed her eyes.

The world _slowed_.

Time distorted, vibrating and rippling around her as she sunk deeper into Max’s arms and tried to stretch the moment for as long as she could.

**Author's Note:**

> So FULL DISCLOSURE - I can't write smut, I try and I attempt, but it just doesn't happen all the way, so even though I tagged this explicit, I don't think it's overly graphic because if I got more descriptive than this my face and my computer would simultaneously burst into flame.
> 
> But the tension had to break! And, absolutely against normal form, it wound up in a frikking sports installment and not the naughty confession one??? Because even I don't understand why???!!!
> 
> Anyway - a lot of tossball I hand-waved over, but the details that are in there I tried to extrapolate from the very few details that we know about (like that there are 1-32 backs, a Goalie, Winger, Hacker, zones named after days of the week, and apparently players are encouraged to straight up kill each other....because sports!)
> 
> But I hope you guys enjoy and I can't believe we got smooching and now smashing and look at this train go! The next installment is going to be how our Captain fixes this Felix in prison problem, and we'll see a darker Max come into play. Catch you then!


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